An honest conversation about death, dignity, and choosing how we go.
Wow.
I felt the temperature in the room shift—just at the mere mention of death.
Why?! Why are we so damn scared to talk about this thing that is as inevitable as sunrise? Is it the unknown? The finality? The loss of control? Or is it just the unbearable silence that follows the last breath?
If we were promised some kind of blissful afterlife, would we still run from death at all costs—or would we celebrate it, knowing a party’s waiting on the other side? Would we still clutch so tightly to this earthly plane, even when our bodies are screaming to let go?
When Survival Isn’t Living
Lately, death has taken up a lot of space in my mind. A close acquaintance passed recently, after a long battle with health issues that were never going to improve. In and out of the hospital. Constant strain. And after she passed, I heard someone say, “It’s so sad, but at least they’re (she and her family) not suffering anymore.” That struck me—hard.
Would she have chosen death with dignity, if it were an option? I don’t know. But knowing her condition wasn’t going to improve—knowing she was merely surviving—makes me wonder:
Why do we spend so much time, money, and energy keeping people alive when we know, with absolute certainty, that their suffering will only continue?
At what point does the patient get a say in their own end-of-life journey?
In 2018, we lost my mother-in-law after a long, brutal fight with a rare, incurable disease called Multiple System Atrophy.
In her final years, she was bed-ridden, reliant on machines to eat, breathe, exist. Even if she had been ready to go, she couldn’t have told us. We watched as this bright, vibrant light dimmed slowly, painfully—her body ravaged while doctors continued to “save” her so she could lie in bed, watch TV, and have people come talk at her, not with her. Was that really living? Or just a slow, suffocating goodbye?
Now, I face my own journey with an incurable, progressive disease. It’s already taken so much—my independence, my ease, my spontaneity. And I can’t help but ask: when is it time to throw in the towel? And more painfully… will I even get a say?
The Hardest Question
I’ve danced with the thought of suicide—dark, desperate moments when it seemed like the only way out. But love has always pulled me back. Love for my people. My wild, beautiful, messy crew. That tether. That ache. That loyalty.
Still, I have to ask the hardest question I know:
Do you love me enough to let me go?
Because that, my dear ones, is the ultimate act of love. The gift of peace. The release from pain. Just like it would be selfish for me to vanish without warning, it is also selfish to ask someone to stay trapped in a failing body—just to make us feel better.
Death with Dignity
That’s where Death with Dignity laws come in.
These laws are not about giving up. They’re about choosing—about reclaiming control when illness has stolen nearly everything else. They are about choice. Compassion. Dignity. Autonomy.
Although difficult, we will ease the suffering of a beloved pet, whispering, “It’s okay, you can rest now.” But for humans? Suddenly, there’s moral panic. We clutch our pearls. We mutter about “playing God.” When all we’re really asking is to exit this life with grace, the same way we lived it—on our own damn terms.
Let me be clear:
I am not advocating for death.
I am advocating for dignity.
I am advocating for conversations that don’t get shut down by fear or discomfort. I am advocating for options—for the freedom to choose how we say goodbye.
And let me also be clear: I still believe in miracles. I still believe in spontaneous healing, in divine intervention, in the possibility that something unexpected and beautiful could shift this entire journey. I’ve seen it happen. I hold space for that magic. But I would also feel immense relief knowing that if the healing doesn’t come, I’m not trapped. I’m not without a say. There is another path—one paved with compassion, grace, and sovereignty.
Currently, only 10 states—and Washington, D.C.—have Death with Dignity laws in place. And of those, only Oregon and Vermont have removed their residency requirements, making it possible for people from out of state to access these compassionate options. The fact that geography can determine our end-of-life choices is heartbreaking. Dignity shouldn’t depend on a zip code. This is why advocacy and awareness are so critical. We must keep pushing for change.’
Maybe It’s Peace
I don’t know what’s waiting on the other side. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.
Or maybe it’s just peace. And maybe… that’s enough.
What I do know is this:
Every breath is sacred.
But so is the right to stop breathing when the cost becomes too great.
So again, if you’re someone who loves me, I’ll ask:
Do you love me enough to let me go, when the time comes?
And if you’re standing in that in-between space—between holding on and letting go—I see you. I honor you. I pray you find peace, power, and a voice loud enough to speak your truth… even in the shadows.
This isn’t about choosing death.
This is about choosing how we live, right up until the last heartbeat.
And I choose love.
I choose truth.
I choose dignity.
“If you love somebody, set them free.”
~Sting
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